In my case I have to say the effect hasn't been that pronounced. In fact if anything it's been a positive boon... Don't be afraid to go and discuss your mental health or any concerns you have about anti-depressants with your doctor. They love a good laugh.

Hey kids, listen up. We all love soft play, right? You can run indoors. Really fast. And not get told off. You can climb up stuff, jump down from stuff, and you can be loud. Anything your Mum won't let you do at home, you can do here. So here it is the definitive guide to soft play through the ages.

This New Year I have decided things will be different. Not for me the guilt-trip of recrimination that generally follows my orgy of over-indulgence during the Christmas holidays. In short, I have decided that come January I will no longer be making public declarations of unrealistic New Year Resolutions.

I am an American living in London. Aside from the obvious differences - we spell it color, soccer is football, it is tidbit and not titbit (you perverts) - the flagrant, haphazard, and frankly over abundant use of the ubiquitous 'x' (a kiss) sign-off in written correspondences leaves me baffled. What are the rules?

These are awkward situations at the best of times, but at least I was looking sharp. Or so I thought. "You're going grey!" she squawked, triumphantly, before I'd even had a chance to recount how well I was doing and how it had all weirdly coincided with us parting ways.

to celebrate your love through the medium of photography, or perhaps, the making of amateur motion pictures. This is nothing to be ashamed of, and what happens in the privacy of your own home, or perhaps, workplace should remain private and confidential.

It wasn't until the end of the shift that one of the girls I was working with let it slip that I wouldn't be getting paid for my time. Yes, that is correct. Aside from a few pounds in tips, I wasn't getting compensated or my time. I might as well just have spent the evening engaging in my normal routine of obsessive cleaning and reality television.

I fucking hate cats, usually. Like men, they're either ugly, good-looking but dumb to the point of irrelevance, or else transparently cunning. And, also like men, they do that thing where they treat you with indifference, until you withdraw your affections, and then they're all over you like salt on chips.

If I pick up my phone to use it for its original purpose - to actually ring someone, the temptation is to just have a peek at my newsfeeds. I then get sidetracked and find myself scrolling through '14 of the Most Hilarious Mullet Hairstyles, Ever', but why?

My only real party gripe, and one I fear is acutely specific to me, is that small talk - the lifeblood of the latter uPBE - often throws up a situation that leaves me stumped. And annoyingly, it's all my own fault.

Ashton argues that almost a third of under-16s have already had intercourse, so lowering the limit will send a clear message to 14s and under that they absolutely cannot have sex for another 12 months. But where does it end? Over a third of under-16s have tried booze, but that doesn't mean we should let them into pubs. For a start they can't afford to buy a round, the free-loading bastards.

Forgotten the historical reason why many of us accidentally set fire to our sheds on 5 November? Or wondering what the best firework to lose an eye to is? Here's a handy guide to Bonfire Night for anyone with absolutely nothing better to do for the next two minutes.

I now get to become that person who, having managed to navigate nine months of pregnancy and eight months of parenthood, now feels entitled to share helpful [patronising] advice [guesswork] to anyone who'll pretend to listen.

Conversations are now elevated and scrutinized in an amphitheatre of social media. There are those that spectate, speculate, and jump on the bandwagon - whether that's with good intentions, or to kill the show. The Internet means that people don't forget words, and events are recorded forever at the end of a web search. Over time, the moment, context and goodwill crumbles away...

While I salute the bravery of anyone who's prepared to face an unruly crowd and be funny, I believe most of the stand-ups currently performing in the UK lack moral courage, engagement with the real world, and experience of life.

This week, the rumour is that the story of the Essex girls and their posh neighbour may be due to make a TV comeback. Those of a certain age and a certain sense of humour will have happy memories of the original TV series - but would the format transfer to the stage successfully enough to justify a new lease of life in a prime-time entertainment slot?

I think it should come with your Bounty Pack - a certificate of remorse, just you know that you are a fully paid up member of the 'I feel soooo guilty club.' No one told me that growing a human would give me automatic membership, but it did.

Once you start on this path of zero hair tolerance, you have in fact waged war on your follicles and in military terms, they are closely aligned to the Spartans. Now in my late forties... put it this way, if I don't wield the tweezers daily, epilate weekly and wax monthly, I look like Hagrid in lipstick. It's a battle I am losing.

So if inspiration is so important - how do we find it? And more importantly - how do we give it to others? Well finding it is easy. It may not be sold on the shelves of Waitrose but it is readily available to those who know where to look.

I'd like to think that, if I'm lucky enough to exceed the age of 80, with all my marbles and my more important faculties all present and correct, I'll be cut some slack in the matter of my more treasured bad habits. I'll feel that, having survived so long indulging my relatively few vices, I might as well head for the exit in a like manner.

Five-centimetre soup? I wonder, as I lie on my back on the radiotherapy machine, arms in clamps above my head and breasts fully exposed to the team of three female professionals and one young male medical student.

Writers are needy, insecure and desperate for approval. Just like everyone else, in other words, but because writers don't get out much they believe these challenges are unique to them, and tend to over-dramatize them. There's nothing new in all this; what's changed is that online reviews are reminding writers of something that, in the end, is probably good for us: everyone is different.